


Merry Christmas, I'm Yours

by theworldunseen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gilmore Girls Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cersei is referenced but doesn't actually appear, Christmas, Diner Owner Brienne of Tarth, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Past j/c but they're not related, Resolved Sexual Tension, Single Dad Jaime Lannister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21911497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworldunseen/pseuds/theworldunseen
Summary: Single dad Jaime Lannister loves three things the most: his daughter Myrcella, coffee, and his best friend Brienne Tarth. Also Pop Tarts. So, four things. Now that curmudgeonly diner owner Brienne is single, will he make a move this Christmas season?A gender-flipped Gilmore Girls AU with little plot, lots of fluff, and bonus smut at the end!
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Myrcella Baratheon & Jaime Lannister, Myrcella Baratheon & Sansa Stark
Comments: 104
Kudos: 372
Collections: JB Online 2019 Advent Calendar Collection, Sevenmas & Other Winter Holidays





	Merry Christmas, I'm Yours

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea a while ago for a Gilmore Girls JB AU, where Jaime is Lorelai and Brienne is Luke, and now it's here!! There's not a ton of plot. You do not at all need to be familiar with GG to get this, just know they live in a small town in Connecticut. Almost all the backstory is explained in the fic but basically it's this:
> 
> Jaime and Cersei were (unrelated) high school sweethearts. She got pregnant senior year and decided she wanted to keep it. Jaime was 100 percent on board, but Tywin and Cersei's parents disowned them. After Myrcella was born, they moved to Winterfell and got jobs at the Inn but it was too much for Cersei and she left them before Myrcy's first birthday. She has recently sort of come back into their lives. Most of the residents of Winterfell are very protective of Jaime and Myrcella since he was an 18-year-old single dad with a baby trying to make it work. In this fic, Jaime is 32, Myrcella is 14, and Brienne is 30.
> 
> Brienne and Jaime originally did not get along before evolving into banter-y, bicker-y friends, and now they're on the precipice of something more. Imagine this like an episode of a TV show, with at least a season or two before it.
> 
> For actual GG fans: Sansa is Lane Kim-ish, Varys is Taylor, Peck is Kirk, Bronn is Sookie. Myrcella doesn't go to private school (fuck private school), but Tywin has become more of a presence in their lives in the last few years (though it's still very tense). There is no Jess or Dean or Logan lol. The bet is based on when the town picked sides in Luke and Lorelai's break up. The snowman contest is based on the snowman contest.
> 
> If you don't want to read the smut, stop at the end of Christmas Day. 
> 
> The title is from the song of the same nam by Brittain Ashford.
> 
> Please enjoy!!!

“How come you never decorate for Christmas, Brienne?” 

Brienne had come by Myrcella’s table to refill her cup of hot chocolate. In the morning, Jaime and Myrcella would sit side by side at the counter and drink twin cups of coffee with tons of milk and sugar and Brienne couldn’t really do anything about it since Jaime was the parent and was clearly allowing Myrcella to drink it, despite the many articles Brienne had sent him about caffeine consumption in teens. But when Myrcella came in, usually with Sansa, during the afternoon to do homework, Brienne could keep them away from anything more caffeinated than a cup of green tea. It was her duty, really. Maybe when they turned 15 she’d let them split a single mug.

“Uhh, I don’t know, Myrcella.” That was a lie. “Why?”

“Well Sansa and I were talking during study hall about which business has the best Christmas decorations. Because you would think it would be whoever had the best Halloween decorations, but it’s not.” Brienne nodded dumbly. Sansa had not joined her friend for their homework session today — she was practicing with her brand new band. “And then we were wondering why you never decorate Selwyn’s.”

Brienne shrugged. That had been the object of Myrcella’s curiosity a couple weeks ago — why she kept the diner named after her dad instead of changing it to Brienne’s. Myrcella barely remembered when Selwyn had been alive anymore. She’d been eight when he passed.

Jaime had answered for Brienne then. “Because Brienne’s dad was the best, and he deserves to have his legacy honored at the place he loved the most.” She’d had to blink back tears after he said that, lest she start crying in the middle of the dining room. That was the thing about grief. Sometimes it felt like she’d lost her dad decades ago and sometimes it felt like he was about to pop up around the corner with a fresh plate of waffles and a sympathetic ear.

“What will we name to honor your legacy, dad?” Myrcella had asked with a little smirk. “This coffee cup? That fence you crashed into outside our house once?” 

“It wasn’t a crash!” he said for the millionth time. Brienne had fixed the fence for them after. She’d bought him a tool kit that Christmas.

“Well you should decorate this year, Brienne,” Myrcella said. “You could beat everyone, even Varys and the grocery store. Sansa and I thought you could outline all the windows in rainbow lights and we could cut out paper snowflakes and —”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, just to get her to stop. She turned away and went back to behind the counter, where she busied herself with cleaning up the coffee station. She’d recently taken on Podrick as a waiter, and he was still a little messier than she liked. But he’d learn.

An hour later, Jaime came by to pick up Myrcella. He looked tired, which just made him more handsome. When Brienne looked tired she just looked tired. He waved at Myrcella but sat at the counter to talk to Brienne. He put his head in his hands and batted his eyelashes at her.

“Miss Tarth, would you mind preparing for my wonderful daughter and me two of your finest hamburger deluxe specials to go?”

“To go?” She hoped it didn’t sound as pathetic to him as it did to her ear. She just … wouldn’t have minded if they stuck around. That was all. She distracted herself by putting the order in. She added a rush tag so the Blackfish would know to speed it up. He’d been the head cook at the diner since before Brienne was born and had the knife scars to prove it.

“There’s this new reality show where they do crafts and Myrcella demanded we get home in time to watch it together.” He sounded sorry, she thought. “She’s very into crafting right now.”

“She was telling me. Paper snowflakes.” He nodded.

“And she and Sansa have been planning their snowperson contest entry for weeks. They won’t even tell me what it is.”

At that moment Myrcella joined them, having packed up all her books. She’d also bussed her own table, carrying over the tiny plate from her muffin, her empty mug, and her half full glass of water. Brienne thanked her before taking them into the back.

When she returned, Jaime and Myrcella were arguing over who had eaten the last pop tart without telling the other that they’d run out. Jaime seemed guilty, to Brienne’s ear.

“I don’t understand why you eat that junk,” Brienne said. “You come here every morning for breakfast, when do you find the time?” Jaime rolled his eyes as he handed her his card to pay for their dinner.

“They’re not for breakfast. They’re for pre-breakfast. Or pre-dinner. Or a late night snack.”

“I think you ate one in the shower once,” Myrcella added. “And sometimes we get unfrosted, which is practically a health food.” Brienne rolled her eyes and went back to putting together the day’s receipts. 

That was the contradiction of Jaime Lannister. In some ways he felt so much more mature than Brienne — he was raising a 14-year-old daughter all on his own, he’d gotten his college degree going to school at night, he was, in fact, two years older than her — and sometimes he was like a kid himself. When he chugged coffee in the morning because he and Myrcella had stayed up all night watching movies. When Brienne learned he couldn’t make eggs without burning them. When he gagged the one time she gave him a green juice.

The Blackfish rang the bell that let Brienne know their burgers were done. She slipped two big cookies into the bag, too, and threw in extra ketchup packets, since she knew Jaime smothered his fries in the stuff.

“Night, Brienne,” Myrcella shouted as she ran for the door and to their car, burgers in hand. 

Jaime smiled at her as he put his coat back on. “See you tomorrow,” he said. 

She didn’t stop grinning until long after he was gone.

—

“I think I upset Brienne today,” Myrcella said during a commercial. “I didn’t mean to,” she hastily added. Jaime didn’t need her to say that to know it. Myrcella was all good intentions.

“Why?” he asked as he tried to get more ketchup on to the fry in his hand. At some point it was diminishing returns, the weight of the new ketchup actually pulling the old ketchup off the fry — but he would never admit it.

“I asked her why she never decorates the diner for Christmas, and she got that sad look on her face,” she said. She’d finished her food already — she’d been eating so much lately that Jaime wondered if she was about to go through a growth spurt. He hoped not. He’d just bought her new jeans. She sat on the floor, cutting out paper snowflakes.

“I think it makes her miss her dad,” he said. “Selwyn always went big for Christmas.” If anything that was an understatement. Varys had once spent half a town meeting complaining that he made everyone else look bad until Ned Stark had gotten him to shut up. 

“In fact, the year you turned three, he hired me to help put up the decorations with him. I think he just wanted an excuse to give me money, though. Because that’s the type of person he was. He always helped me — helped everybody.”

“He would be really proud of Brienne, I think,” Myrcella said, very thoughtfully. Jaime smiled. 

“He would. The first Christmas after he died, she didn’t decorate at all. It had only been a couple months, so everyone understood. But then she just...never did it again.” 

“I’m surprised Varys didn’t complain about  _ that. _ You know how he is about everything on Main Street matching.”

He  _ had _ complained, actually. But Jaime threatened his life if he mentioned it to Brienne again and he was pretty sure he never did.

The show came back on and Myrcella was enraptured as she watched one of the contestants glue tiny beads to a hanging light using tweezers. Maybe that’s what Jaime should get her for Christmas, tons of crafting supplies. He didn’t know what supplies someone would want, but he could call Tyrion and see if his girlfriend knew. They lived in California: Didn’t everyone on the west coast like that type of thing?

The show ended. The lady with the beads was that week’s winner, which Myrcella was very pleased about. 

“What do you want to watch next? Did you finish all your homework?” He should have led with that question, but Myrcella wasn’t really the kind of kid you had to harangue about doing her homework. He wondered if that was because of his excellent parenting (unlikely) or because she’d been stuck on her own so much. Probably he’d just lucked out with the world’s best kid.   
“Oh,” she said, something withholding in her tone. He turned to face her and noted she was twirling one of her curls around her finger, the way she did when she got nervous. “Actually, mom said she was gonna call me a little after nine.”

_ Ahh. _ It still felt a little weird hearing her call Cersei “mom” even though it’d been a few years since she’d gotten back into regular touch with them. Try as he might, Jaime still resented it a little. Cersei gave birth to Myrcella but she’d left them before his daughter’s first birthday. She called twice a year until Myrcella’s eleventh birthday, when she’d shown up at their house in her sports car with her husband. Jaime hadn’t seen her since the day she left.

But his therapist had emphasized how important it was to let Myrcella have a relationship with her mom on her own terms, even if he didn’t like it. No, that wasn’t it — it scared him. He didn’t want Cersei to leave his daughter again. No kid should have to go through that twice. 

Cersei had left him and he didn’t really blame her for that. But leaving this amazing kid?

And to make matters worse, now they had a real custody agreement. And Cersei and her husband could afford some fancy lawyers and Jaime couldn’t (Tywin maybe would’ve helped, if he asked, but he refused to ask for anything since the day he threw him out), so Jaime hadn’t fought her about it. She got one month of the summer, alternating weekends, and alternating holidays. In practice, Myrcella usually only was away one weekend of the month.

But Cersei had Christmas this year. Jaime was dreading it. He hoped Myrcella couldn’t tell.

At least Cersei paid child support now. Jaime tried not to touch it, letting it rest in a savings account for when Myrcella wanted to go off to college. But some months it was impossible to make ends meet without it.   
“OK,” Jaime said. He started to collect the detritus of their dinner.

“You don’t have to go,” she said.

“No, I wanted to go lay down anyway. Long day. Don’t sweat it.” He threw out their garbage, then went back into the living room and kissed Myrcella’s head. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Night Dad. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

In his room he changed into pajama pants and a tee shirt, then plopped down on his bed. He should try to relax. He should. Relax.

He texted Brienne.  _ U busy? _

She called him. God bless Brienne.

“Hey.”

“What’s the matter?” He chuckled.

“Nothing.” She knew him better. She didn’t say anything. “Myrcella’s on the phone with Cersei.”

“Ahh.”

“...It just makes me nervous. I know it’s not fair to hold against her things she did when she was 17 but…” Brienne just let him sit with the silence. “How was your day?” he asked eventually.

“You saw me less than two hours ago,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask about your day. I’m asking now.” Brienne sighed. He wished he could bottle that sound. He got under the covers.

“Well, Baelish tried to buy coffee before the pot was even done brewing. And then Varys...” She went through her day. She always said it was boring — why would he want to hear about it — but she made it interesting anyway with her little observations and asides. He liked to picture her behind the counter in her big flannels, her disgusting old baseball cap keeping her hair out of her eyes, the queen of the diner. The keeper of the donuts. The empress of the onion rings. 

“How’s the Inn?” she asked when she was done. 

“Oh you know,” he said. “Bronn almost got into a fight with two grooms about the menu they want for their wedding. Ygritte was threatening to take the union on strike unless they get five more minutes of break time. Nothing unusual.”

Brienne laughed. It was the fifth time he’d made her laugh today. Not that he was counting. 

“Who was right about the wedding?” Jaime turned off the lamp by his bed, his eyes starting to grow heavy. How long had they been on the phone? 

“As manager I had to back my employee one hundred percent. As a human person, the grooms had some good points.” Brienne snorted. Six. He yawned. “I should make Myrcella is OK before I fall asleep.” 

“Of course. Good night, Jaime.”

“Night Brie Brie. And thanks for the cookies.”

“Anytime.”

When he knocked on Myrcella’s door, she was asleep. 

—

Brienne has just finished brewing another cup of coffee when Myrcella burst through the door, Jaime trailing at a more normal pace behind her. She plopped down on her stool at the counter with a big grin on her face. 

“Good morning, Brienne!” she said, just oozing excitement. 

“Good morning, Myrcella. Why are you so exhilarated this morning?” She poured the two cups of coffee as Jaime sat down (She might have shorted Myrcella a few drops). 

“Am I?” Myrcella asked. “Am I usually not happy?” Brienne smirked as she took out the milk and sugar. 

“Usually you’re at like head cheerleader levels of happy. Today you’re like, Christmas elf levels.” Myrcella smiled wider. 

“Tonight it’s supposed to snow like six inches. Which means Sansa and I can start on our snowperson tomorrow, which will give us just enough time to finally beat Littlefinger.”

“Myrcella —”

“Sorry Dad, I meant Mr. Baelish.” She rolled her eyes, a silent protest. “Anyway, Sansa and I are definitely going to beat  _ Mr. Baelish _ this year.” 

“When is the judging this year?” Brienne asked as she plated two muffins for them. Friday was muffins — pistachio for Jaime and chocolate chip for Myrcella. Jaime’s reward for trying to eat healthy breakfasts the rest of the week (with limited success).

“Next Friday during the Christmas market,” Myrcella said. 

“You should come,” Jaime said. Brienne tended to stay away from town-wide events, trying to avoid their more nosey, annoying neighbors — Varys, Baelish, Selyse, Edmure...a lot of people, really. Jaime would probably be more reclusive, too, if not for Myrcella. He surprised himself when he added, “Even bring Hyle. Show him the Winterfell spirit.”

And then Brienne uttered the four words that changed everything.

“Oh. We broke up.”

Jaime spilled his coffee. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he said, feeling vaguely bad for cursing in front of Myrcella. 

“It’s OK,” Brienne said, whipping out one of her dozens of rags. She wiped it up in a second. That was Brienne. She was refilling his cup before he’d even gotten a hold on what was happening.

Brienne and Hyle had broken up?  _ Finally? _ When!? Why didn’t she tell him?! Was she upset? Had he  _ dumped her, _ the ungrateful little shit?! What—

Myrcella was, as ever, on top of it.

“When did you and Hyle break up?” Brienne blinked, like she hadn’t expected anyone to care. 

“Oh, last month? A little after Halloween?” Then she  _ shrugged. _ Like it  _ didn’t matter. _

Jaime opened his mouth to speak, but found it very dry. He took a huge sip of coffee — too hot. He shoved a piece of muffin in his mouth. Brienne was watching him like he was a toddler who had just learned to feed himself and was failing. Which is what he felt like. Finally, he swallowed.

“What happened? Did he —” Brienne shook her head, seemingly confused as to why anyone cared.  _ The nerve. _

“I broke up with him.” This slightly surprised Jaime, since Brienne had seemed to have no limit for the amount of crap she’d put up with from Hyle for years. (He was still mad that the little shit had forgotten Brienne’s birthday in September.) But he was proud she’d finally drawn a line.

“Why? What did he do?” Was it rude to ask that? Maybe. But he felt Myrcella lean in too, and he knew they both wanted to know.

Brienne shrugged,  _ again. _ “You know how he is. Was.” Jaime didn’t say anything and just gave a little nod. They hadn’t talked the whole month of July after Jaime said Brienne could do a lot better than Hyle. He didn’t want to be on the outs again if they did get back together  _ (Please don’t let them get back together). _

“I just realized,” she said, searching for the words. She crossed her arms across her chest, the surest sign that she was going to say something emotionally vulnerable. “There was no point in dating someone who still made me feel lonely all the time. And we didn’t even see each other that much, really. I’d rather be single than keep trying to build something with someone like that.” She mumbled something about checking on the Blackfish and ran for the back. 

“Woah,” Myrcella said, her muffin and coffee forgotten. Woah indeed.

“Finish eating, you’ll be late for school.” She sighed dramatically, but finished her breakfast. Brienne came back after a few minutes and Jaime paid. He wanted to say  _ something, _ but he didn’t know what. Brienne had been single for over a month. Wow.

He had no idea what to do.

As he and Myrcella walked down the block — her towards school, him towards his car so he could drive over to the inn — she hit him with the question.

“So when are you going to ask Brienne out?” She was smirking, the little brat. 

“Go to school now or I’ll ground you.”

“For what?” she asked, folding her arms in an honestly eerie imitation of her mother.

“For … making fun of me.” She laughed at him, which he deserved. 

“Have a nice day at work,” she said. She left him with a hug before practically running toward school. 

As ever, news traveled fast in Winterfell. He got it when he checked in on Bronn in the kitchen at the Inn.

“I heard your girl finally broke up with that doofus,” he said as he trimmed the romanesco.

“How could you have possibly heard that already? And she’s not my girl.”

“Davos told me when he brought this morning’s vegetables. He heard it from Peck, who was having breakfast at Selwyn’s this morning.” Jaime did sort of remember seeing Peck at the diner that morning. Had their conversation been that loud? Jaime refused to respond to Bronn’s continued questioning and scurried away from the kitchen, though he could hear Bronn calling after him.

He met Ygritte at reception — he had to brief her on some VIPs who were visiting this weekend — and the predatory smirk on her face told him that she knew, too.

“Ya better man up, Lannister,” she said as he walked away. He didn’t have to ask what she meant.

Even  _ Catelyn _ got on his case when he saw her for their weekly check-in. They went over the whole schedule for the month — special events, important guests, the PTO schedule, and the like — and Jaime thought he was in the clear until he was about to stand and leave.

“So what are you going to do about Brienne?” He sighed.

“Is the whole town talking about this?” She raised an eyebrow, then picked up her phone.

“I got texts from … Varys, Robb, Pia, Ned and Edd. Baelish asked if I wanted to get in on the betting pool of how long it will take for you to do it.” Jaime groaned and slumped back in the chair.

“If she finds out, she will literally never say yes.” Attention made Brienne skittish. It made Jaime skittish, too, but he knew he had to be the brave one here. Catelyn nodded solemnly. 

“Then do it before she finds out,” she said. He put his head in his hands.

“You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right.” He ran his hands through his hair until it stood up in the air. “I just feel like I’ve got one shot at this and I really don’t want to mess it up.” Jaime hadn’t been  _ celibate _ since Myrcella was born, but he’d been close to. He’d gone on a few dates and slept with a handful of people, but it never felt right. It didn’t help that most people in their 20s didn’t want to date someone with a kid, or that he was cautious to introduce strangers to Myrcella. Probably overly cautious. He’d just put his head down and focused on raising her.

So not only was he inexperienced, but he’s also never gone on a date with someone who meant as much to him as Brienne did.

“What if she doesn’t...like me like that?” He felt like Sansa and Myrcella discussing the new boy at school. “And then she doesn’t want to be friends anymore because I ruined it.” Catelyn gave him a very kind smile that also felt like it was 20 percent pitying.

“I would bet money that she does ‘like you like that.’ In fact, I have. I bet $20 you’ll ask her out before Boxing Day, so please do so.” Jaime tried to glare daggers at her, but she brushed it off. “But even if  _ somehow _ every single person you both know has read the situation incorrectly, she’d still want to be your friend. Otherwise, all that free coffee was a waste.”

It was sort of comforting.

During his lunch break he called Addam, who lived in Hartford. He needed an outsider’s help, someone who didn’t live in this bizarre Winterfell snow globe. Tyrion’s advice would be disgustingly graphic. Addam, who’d been his friend since sixth grade, could be trusted.

“Listen, say you had a friend who you were interested in dating — what would you do to … make clear your intentions?” Jaime grimaced. He sounded like such a dork.

“Oh yeah, Tyrion told me that Brienne broke up with Hyle.”

“How does  _ Tyrion _ know?!”

“Pia texted Tysha. Apparently they’re in a digital writers group together. Tysha’s working on a novel.” Jaime realized he was grinding his teeth and started to search his pockets for gum.

“Great,” he said. “Any  _ advice _ you would like to give me, your oldest, most treasured friend?” Addam mulled it over.

“Bring her flowers. Flowers are romantic. But don’t say anything else — let the gesture speak for itself. Then invite her to something together, something low pressure. But do the flirty thing, touch her arm. But you already do that mushy stuff with Brienne.”

“No I don’t,” he said. It was a lie. He was always trying to touch her arm. Or he’d sit close to her for no reason. He’d dreamily imagined putting his head in her lap and letting her run her fingers through his hair.  _ Christ, _ he was  _ worse _ than Sansa and Myrcella.

“If you say so,” Addam said. “Flowers. Low pressure hang out. Light flirting. If you get the signs, kiss her.”

—

“So is your dad gonna ask Brienne out?” Sansa asked as they browsed the shelves at the bookstore after work. They were slightly desperate to finish their Christmas shopping. Sansa wanted to get some history book for her dad, while Myrcella was aimlessly browsing, hoping something would pop out as a good gift for her mom.

“I don’t know!” she admitted, as much as it annoyed her. “I asked him this morning and he got all huffy.”

Sansa thoughtfully looked through the biographies of old white guys who fought in wars. The worst part of history, in Myrcella’s opinion. 

“Maybe it’s because of you,” Sansa wondered. 

“Me?” It stung. 

“‘No, no, not like that,” Sansa said, picking up on her friend’s discomfort. “I just mean your dad doesn’t date. Not that we can remember at least. Maybe he thinks you don’t want him to.”

“Of course I want him to!” Myrcella said. She picked up a biography of Elizabeth Taylor. Elizabeth Taylor was glamorous, like her mom. But did that mean she cared about her, though? 

“It would be so dumb of him not to date  _ anyone _ — let alone Brienne — because of me.” She chewed on it. “Which is exactly the self-sacrificing thing he’d do.” She sighed. “I can’t just say, ‘Hey dad it’s totally fine if you date Brienne,’ right? Right?”

“Maybe we can matchmake at Christmas,” Sansa said, already getting that dreamy faraway look she had when she was running away with a plan. “My mom invited you guys since your grandpa is going away and she invited Brienne and —“

“We can’t,” Myrcella reminded her. “I’m going to my mom’s for Christmas.” She tried not to sound sad about it. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel. She wanted to see her mom, but not at the expense of not seeing her dad. Not that she wanted to see them  _ together. _ Her dad always got kind of quiet and sad around her mom, like an abandoned puppy that was trying to seem indifferent. And her mom never even noticed the effect she had on him, which just made it more depressing. She wished she could be two Myrcellas sometimes, so she could take what her mom had to give her while not missing a moment with her dad.

“We should ask your mom,” she told Sansa. “Your mom knows everything.” The list of things Catelyn had taught Myrcella was long: How to sew a button, how to curl her hair with a flat iron, how to put in a tampon, how to tell a street harrasser to fuck off, to name a few.

Sansa found the perfect biography for her dad, a huge tome about George Washington that included all the cool war stuff but also pointed out what a slave-holding, racist hypocrite he was. Myrcella decided to get her mom a candle from Pia’s store. 

—

Myrcella was laid out on the living room floor, working on her homemade Christmas cards. She’d made these custom stamps that were shaped like the two of them, and then she had some snowflakes and trees and hearts and one that said “The Lannisters.” She even had a menorah and a dreidel. It was extremely impressive.

He watched her for a few moments, ignoring the Christmas movie his daughter had put on — something about a time-traveling knight.

“Hey Myrcy, can I ask you something?” Why was he so nervous?

“Duh,” she said. She didn’t even look up. 

“Would it really be OK with you if I asked out Brienne?”

Myrcella snorted. 

“Yeah, Dad. Obviously. How is this even a question?!” She stopped her work then and sat up so she could give him this look that said  _ Are you stupid?  _ She’d started giving him that look when she was four and he kept forgetting to put her favorite pack of crayons in her backpack.

“I just...what if it doesn’t work out?” She crossed her arms.

“Dad, I’m not a  _ kid. _ I know people break up. And Brienne will still be my friend even if she hates you.”

“Myrcella.” He tried to sound stern, but he mostly sounded nervous.

“Brienne would never hate you,” she added hastily, apparently realizing how scared he actually was. “Really. She doesn’t even hate Hyle, I don’t think, and he would actually deserve it.”

Done with her old man, Myrcella turned back to her Christmas cards. “That’s what Sansa thought,” she said, mostly to herself.

“Sansa thought what?” he asked. Myrcella didn’t look at him.

“That you thought that I wouldn’t want you to ask Brienne out. Or anybody out. Ever.” He couldn’t see her face, but he recognized the little tremor in her voice. He slid down onto the floor and tugged on her arm. She crawled over and cuddled up into his side, the same way she’d been doing since she could sit up by herself. He held her close. 

“Listen, kid,” he said, trying to sound serious. Myrcella called it his “family sitcom voice.” “First of all, I have gone out with people.”

“When?” She didn’t believe him.

“Infrequently and not recently, but it’s not because of you. But you’re the most important person in my life — which is a choice I made, and keep making every day, because I want to.” She considered it. He didn’t know how he raised someone so thoughtful.

“But if I’d said I didn’t want you to ask Brienne out? Would you not do it?” He wanted to give her the same consideration he gave her, so he took a minute to think.

“Well, I would’ve asked you why not and we would’ve talked about your concerns and my concerns and we would’ve figured it out from there.” She nodded. 

“I just don’t want you to be so worried about me that you’re not happy.” She practically mumbled it. He pulled her closer. 

“That will never happen. Don’t worry about me, alright? I’m very happy just here with you.” 

Myrcella gave him a hug before returning to her cards.

But then she realized he’d never confirmed. “So you’re gonna do it, right?”

Jaime sighed dramatically. “I don’t know Myrcy. What if she doesn’t want to and then everything…”

“Why wouldn’t she want to? You’re very handsome. Everyone says so.”

“What?” He felt himself blushing. “Who’s everyone?” He couldn’t see her face but he could tell from her body language that she was rolling her eyes. She handed him a stack of cards.

“Lick these envelopes.” He dutifully obliged. “Remember how red my eighth grade teacher got every time you came in for Parent-Teacher conferences?” Miss Hetherspoon  _ had _ gotten very red. She’d also given Jaime her phone number when he ran into her in the grocery store a couple months ago. He hadn’t told Myrcella.

“Sure,” Jaime said, in between envelope licks. 

“Last year I posted a photo of us together on my birthday, and I had to turn off the comments because everyone was making comments about you being a DILF.” He almost apologized, but Myrcella was suppressing a laugh. “And then Sansa told me once that part of how she knew she really was a lesbian was that she never understood why everyone was going on about how handsome you are.”

“Sansa doesn’t think I’m handsome?” Now Myrcella was actually laughing.

“That is what you would get from the conversation! Just for that, you have to lick every single envelope!”

—

Monday after work Jaime walked into Rose’s and saw the person he least wanted to see behind the florist’s counter: Margaery Tyrell. He could’ve sworn Loras worked Mondays.

Margaery was a great florist, yes. She did beautiful work for the Inn all the time. But she was also Brienne’s best friend, and she would text Brienne to tell her Jaime was buying her flowers before he’d even left the store. 

He’d seen Brienne on Friday night and on Sunday afternoon and that morning, and Brienne hadn’t acted any differently, so it seemed the town’s fascination with their relationship status hadn’t reached her, at least. He didn’t need Margaery to spill the beans now.

But before he could slip out of the store, sight unseen, he heard her say, “If it isn’t Jaime Lannister. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Oh, she  _ knew. _

Jaime strolled casually through the buckets of flowers. “Hey Margaery,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Happy Monday.”

She was not fooled. She rested her head in her hands on the counter, a devilish grin on her face.

“Happy Monday, Jaime. Are you interested in purchasing some of my wares?” He couldn’t take it. He stomped over to the counter, arms crossed.

“Listen. You know why I’m here.” He practically growled.

“I could  _ guess _ why you’re here. But do I  _ know?” _ Jaime rolled his eyes.

“Just promise me you won’t tell her.”

“Tell who?” The shtick was getting old. 

“Is there some sort of florist-client privilege? Like with lawyers?”

Margaery stood up to her full height. 

“Not usually, but for you I’ll make an exception. What were you thinking?”

Jaime started to roam the flowers again. He should’ve googled this before he came in.

“I want something that says, ‘You’re my best friend and if only want to be friends, that would be fine, but I would very much like to kiss you before the new year. But in a festive way.” Margaery laughed at him.

“I’m good, but I don’t know that I’m  _ that _ good.” At the same time, Margaery started walking around the room, picking stems here and there. There were some very pretty red flowers mixed with lots of green things.

“Is that an artichoke?” Jaime asked. Margaery rolled her eyes.

“A succulent. It adds texture. You can’t just give Brienne a bunch of roses and call it a day. It has to be special. It has to match her.”

She explained which flowers she was grabbing as she went, but the names wouldn’t stick in Jaime’s head. It seemed like the sort of thing Myrcella would love. He should’ve brought her — except maybe that was embarrassing, to bring your teenage daughter to help you pick flowers for the woman you want to ask out. But maybe she’d like a part-time job here. He made a mental note to ask her.

When Margaery was done, she had created the perfect bouquet. It was red and green but there was something wild about it, untamed, even. She wrapped the bottom in paper and handed it to him. 

“How much do I owe you?” he asked. Margaery looked very guilty, all of a sudden.

“I might have gone a little overboard,” she said. “So why don’t you give me … twenty bucks.”

“It has to be more than that —”

“Nope, just twenty.

“Margaery —”

“Jaime, you do  _ not _ want to pay what it actually costs, OK? It’s a Christmas gift. Just take it.”

When he and Cersei had moved to Winterfell, two 18-year-olds with a brand new baby, they’d both been very stubborn about accepting help. Especially Cersei. They got jobs at the Inn — she worked nights at the front desk and he was on the cleaning crew — and tried to make ends meet from that. 

After she left, he tried to handle it all on his own. Myrcella wasn’t even a year old and he couldn’t afford daycare so he tried to bring her to work with him.

Catelyn caught him four days later and the whole story spilled out: He and Cersei had been high school sweethearts, she got pregnant, she said she wanted to raise the baby together, his father had disowned him, they moved to Winterfell after Myrcella was born, and now, Cersei was gone. 

Catelyn sat there in her desk chair, listening and cradling Myrcella in her arms. 

“My daughter’s the same age as Myrcella,” she had said. “A couple months older. They’ll be in the same class in elementary school.” Jaime was floored by that, thinking of his baby girl as a three or four year old. He’d be proud to get to twelve months. He hadn’t dared thought past that.

“The way I see it, you have two options. You can pack it up and throw you and this beautiful little girl at your father’s mercy.” Jaime shook his head. “Or you can go back to your apartment, pack everything up, and move into one of the cabins on the grounds.”

Jaime’s jaw dropped.

“I can’t do that…”

“It’s your only option. You can’t pay rent by yourself. You can’t pay for daycare by yourself. Let us help you.”

She handed him a box of tissues. He hadn’t realized he was crying. 

“Why?” he asked. “Why would you help me?”

“You’re a good kid, Jaime. You just want to give your daughter the best life. And you can.” It was the first time since Cersei had left that Jaime felt like maybe he could really do this.

Since then, Jaime always accepted what people wanted to give him — and he tried to teach Myrcella to give everything she could in return.

So Jaime harrumphed but he took out his wallet and gave Margaery a measly $20 for the flowers.

“Go get her, tiger,” Margaery said. He tried to give a confident smile. 

“Listen,” he whispered, leaning in. “She didn’t tell you if…” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Margaery shook her head.

“You know Brienne. She keeps everything so close to the chest.” He nodded. He knew.

—

It had been a nightmarish day at the diner. The Blackfish was obviously hungover when he showed up that morning, and he overcooked Varys’ eggs, which Brienne had to listen to him complain about for ten minutes (“If this is the quality of service at this establishment, I’ll have to take my business somewhere else!”). Podrick called out sick, which Brienne couldn’t really be angry about because it  _ was _ the responsible thing to do, but it did make her afternoon busier than she’d planned. At the end of the lunch rush, Selyse’s church group came in and took up half the room and ordered all sorts of annoying things like taco salads with no cheese and extra chicken and dressing on the side. And then they didn’t tip. What a Monday.

Someone had spilled coffee all over the window, so now she was cleaning the glass before the dinner rush picked up in earnest. She looked out on the town square, where every other business was lit up with lights and covered in wreaths and cut outs of Santa. The gazebo in the town square was sparkling, and the snowpeople contest submissions were cropping up everywhere. People were walking around, bundled in their coats and scarves and gloves. She watched them for a moment, feeling so outside of the hustle and bustle. Maybe she was being stupid, not decorating for Christmas. 

Something outside caught her eye — Jaime, walking determinedly toward the diner, with something large in his hand. She stopped cleaning the window and went back behind the counter, so it wouldn’t look like she was watching him. 

Not that she was doing anything wrong. By watching him. Which she hadn’t been. Fuck.

This is why she hadn’t told him about Hyle. When Jaime had thought she and Hyle were still together, it had been a sort of buffer between...whatever was between them. They didn’t have a buffer now. 

She took off her hat. It was so dirty. But it was a health code violation to not have it on. And she probably had hat hair. She put it back, reluctantly.

Then Jaime came through the door with flowers in his hand. Brienne wasn’t the type of woman to swoon — Was any woman, really, outside the pages of a historical romance? — but she almost did, then. He had on his dark green jacket that brought out the color of his stupidly beautiful eyes. His hair had been thrown around in the wind, but in a way that was dead sexy. And his beard, which he’d grown a couple years ago in hopes that it would make Myrcella’s teachers take him more seriously, perfectly traced the line of his stupid, wonderful jaw.

And he had flowers. Presumably for her.

“Hey,” she said, like this was the sort of thing he did all the time, showing up at her diner with a bouquet and looking like the secret fourth Hemsworth. 

“Hi,” he said. Were his cheeks red from the cold or was he blushing? She hoped it was the latter. He didn’t say anything; he just kept looking at her with this sort of twinkle in his eye (or was that just Myrcella’s Christmas spirit getting to her?). 

“What’s up?” she asked. She didn’t gesture to the elephant in the room, the large, expensive-looking bunch of flowers in his hand. She’d have to ask Margaery about them.

That was enough to snap Jaime out of whatever reverie he’d momentarily fallen into. 

“I brought you these,” he said, holding them out. Brienne had  _ possibly _ indulged in fantasies and daydreams like this before. The reality was exponentially better.

“They’re lovely,” she said, taking them from his hands. “Is that an artichoke?”

Jaime laughed. “That’s what I asked Margaery. It’s a succulent. I don’t know what that means.” He gave her this goofy, sheepish smile. 

“Thank you,” she said again, giving them another look before raising her gaze up to him. She took a breath. “Why...why did you get me flowers?” Oh he  _ was _ blushing. She tried not to smirk, but now she understood why he always teased her for her hot, red cheeks. It was adorable.

He leaned forward and spoke with a low voice, like he had some fun, undeniably sexy secret. 

“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go to the Christmas market with me on Friday. Unless you have to work, obviously. We could do something after you’re done, then. Or if you don’t want to do something so Christmas-y, we could do something else, or —”

“I don’t have to work,” she interrupted, or else he’d keep going. “No one comes in during the market anyway, and Varys conned me into getting a booth for the diner. Pod’s in charge of selling hot chocolate and gift cards.” Jaime smiled.

“I’m glad he’s working out here.” Pod had originally come to the Inn looking for a part-time job, but there hadn’t been enough work to give him. It was Jaime’s idea to foist him on Brienne, and he was rising to the challenge, mostly.

“He’s getting there,” she said. She smiled at him. He smiled back. They said nothing.

“So,” he said. “Friday?”

“Oh! Yes. Yes. I would love to.” He smiled even wider, somehow. 

“Alright. I’ll see you then.” 

“Well you’ll see me tomorrow morning for breakfast.” He laughed.

“Right, of course. Maybe I’ll let you make me one of those gross juices again.”

“No, you won’t.”

He shook his head. “No, I won’t.” They stood there, staring at each other. 

“I should probably get these in water upstairs before it gets packed in here.”

“Oh,” he said, like he’d forgotten about the enormous bouquet she was holding. “Of course.” He still didn’t move. 

“But I’ll see you tomorrow? Unless you’re staying for dinner.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. When Brienne’s hair was messy she looked like a mess. When Jaime’s was messy he looked like some sort of sex god. 

“I have to go pick Myrcella up and then we’re making burritos for dinner.” 

“Oh. Good.” She wasn’t disappointed. Not really. That would be dumb, right? “It’s good you can cook  _ something.” _

There was the classic Lannister smirk.

“I can cook! Just because I don’t own a diner doesn’t mean I can’t cook.” She rolled her eyes.

“You burnt eggs.”

“That was one time!” He wrinkled his face. “Two times.”

—

Margaery came bursting through the door of the diner just as Brienne was about the close on Friday afternoon. Podrick had finished packing all the hot chocolate supplies and was about to bring them outside to the Selwyn’s booth. 

“So what are you wearing for your date?” Brienne rolled her eyes and didn’t look up from the counter she was wiping down. 

“We’re going to be outside and it’s cold so...a coat and scarf.” Margaery sighed. 

“Thank God I came over.” 

She eventually convinced Brienne to go up to her apartment with her so she could try on options. 

Margaery could tell Brienne was actually nervous because there was no other way she could’ve bullied her into putting on this outfit. But when she was done, Brienne was wearing a suede mini skirt (OK — regular length skirt that became a mini skirt on Brienne’s legs) with tights and boots. Margaery had tried to get her in a v neck sweater, but Brienne had refused going that far.

“We’re going to be outside, I’ll just end up covering my neck with a scarf anyway.” So instead Margaery picked a chunky turtleneck in light blue, which got rid of the need for a scarf all together and made Brienne look like one of the many hot people in _ Love Actually _ . Brienne insisted on wearing gloves and a hat, no matter how many times Margaery said, “Jaime will keep you warm,” but at least the accessories matched her navy, plaid pea coat. 

When Marg was done she knew her friend was more dressed up than she would’ve been otherwise. And her legs were on display, which was a real victory all on its own. 

“Let me just hit you with some pink lip balm. And maybe mascara?”

Brienne groaned, having reached her limit. 

“Jaime knows what I really look like,” she said. Margaery sighed and gave up, though she left her with the lip balm just in case.

—

“Dad we have to go!” Myrcella called from downstairs..

“Ok, ok,” Jaime said as he did another pass with his comb through his hair. He looked nice, he thought — he hoped. He was wearing the hunter green coat Myrcella had forced upon him two Christmases ago because his old one had a hole in the pocket he kept dropping his keys through. (He was pretty sure Tywin had given her the money for it, but he’d learned there were many fights not worth having.) He had a dark gray scarf around his neck. He’d put oil in his beard so it wasn’t too scratchy (Catelyn had told him about that) and swiped on a little lip balm, which, he told himself, wasn’t presumptuous, just practical. Lips get chapped in the cold!

But his hair. His hair wasn’t cooperating. He groaned and Myrcella came thundering into the bathroom. 

“Are you playing with your hair?” she asked, exasperated. His guilty face told her what she needed to know.

“It looks bad!” he complained. She rolled her eyes. She was dressed very practically for the weather — fuzzy boots and a big scarf and a hat with a huge pom pom on top.

“It’s cold, Dad. Put on your hat.” She stood with her hands on her hips, holding her ground.

“But my hair...” he protested weakly. 

“Brienne knows your hair is very nice. Put on your hat and let’s go!” She was at the front door before he got downstairs.

—

Brienne had been vaguely worried that going on a date with Jaime would feel  _ too _ different from when they hung out. Yes, it would necessarily be at least a little different, but what if it was awkward? What if she couldn’t think of anything to say? What if  _ he _ couldn’t think of anything to say? Then they’re really be doomed.

But being together now was just like before — except better. Because when Jaime made a flirty comment, she knew he meant it, and she didn’t duck her head and pretend it wasn’t happening, or convince herself it was just a long-running inside joke. 

And she did end up taking off her gloves because she wanted to hold his hand and it just felt nice and right. She bought them apple cider and he bought them pretzels and now they were sitting in the gazebo, waiting for the snowperson judging to start.

They were holding hands again. 

“So did you find out what the girls made for their entry yet?” she asked. Jaime looked so soft and warm under the twinkling lights, she could practically feel herself falling in love with him. Falling more in love with him. Like sinking into a bathtub. As he blinked she was mesmerized by his impossibly long lashes. 

“Nope, still top secret. They used a blanket to keep it incognito. But we can probably go see it in a few minutes.”

“Do you have a guess?” she asked. “Maybe it’s you.” He laughed.

“No, Myrcella said that was ‘too provincial.’” He wrinkled his nose so she knew he wasn’t offended. “They made a whole spreadsheet of what’s won the last 25 years and tried to find common patterns in winning subject matter so they could pick a real champion.” Brienne’s mouth fell open.

“Remind me not to cross Sansa and Myrcella.”

“I’m sure they already have a binder of all your strengths and weaknesses just in case.” 

“And yours,” she said, laughing a little.

“Oh me? I’m sure they have three binders full of my weaknesses. Three and a half.” He moved a little closer to her.

“What are your weaknesses, Jaime Lannister?” She might have batted her eyelashes, but if she did, it was not a premeditated or conscious move. 

“Let’s see.” When did his voice get so husky? “I’m useless without coffee. Would do anything for Myrcella, obviously. I’m vain about my hair. My love of garlic knots. And strawberry Pop Tarts. All Pop Tarts, really. Jimmy Stewart movies.” He was so close now, he was basically whispering into her ear. “And You.”

How did it take them so long to end up like this? If she just pushed her head an inch forward, they’d be kissing. She would push her head forward, in a moment, but she wanted to savor this now — the moment before. She felt like they were sparkling.

So of course that’s when all hell broke loose.

—

They had finally taken the blanket off their snowperson. Well, that was the thing — it wasn’t a snowperson. It was a 4 foot Christmas tree made entirely of snow, complete with snowball ornaments. Sansa had to get Uncle Brynden to make them special wood cutouts that they used to shape the branches. 

They quickly attracted a crowd as they put on the finishing touches, reshaping some places where it had melted. Sansa didn’t think she’d ever seen Myrcy smile so wide, which made everything worth it, even if they lost. Peck was sputtering about how technically this wasn’t a snowperson and ought to be ineligible, but Sansa had her answer prepared.

“The rules doesn’t state it has to be a person, it can be any person, animal, or object,” Sansa rattled off. “Most people just choose to do people, because they lack imagination. Also, we got Varys’ approval  _ months _ ago.” Peck stormed off to go check. But Sansa knew there was no way Peck’s stupid Snow Elvis could beat their majestic tree.

Sansa turned back around so she could do a final check on the bottom branches, but she noticed Myrcy was texting someone. Everyone they knew was here. And she was worrying her bottom lip, like something was wrong.

“What’s up?” Sansa asked as she inspected the branches in front of her. Did it need another snowball? She could whip one up quickly.

“Nothing, just my mom,” Myrcella said, before putting her phone back in her pocket. 

They took a step back to admire their hard work.

“I think she’s perfect,” Myrcella declared. 

“We should take a photo with it,” Sansa said, taking out her phone. They tried to take a selfie, but they couldn’t fit the whole thing in the frame with them. 

“My dad will be here in a second, whenever he’s done  _ canoodling _ in the gazebo.” Myrcella tried to sound annoyed, but Sansa knew she was actually extremely pleased by the turn of events. Then her phone started ringing. She checked it again, frowning.

“I have to take this,” Myrcella said, answering. “I’ll be back in one second.” She ran off in the direction of the diner, chatting away on the phone.

Sansa waited five minutes. She sent a text. “Where are you? Judging is soon!” She waited ten. Fifteen. She called Myrcella, but it went straight to voicemail. Something was wrong. 

—

Jaime was about to kiss Brienne — or she was about to kiss him — when Sansa ran into the gazebo. 

“Mr. Lannister! Mr. Lannister!” Jaime and Brienne sprang apart. Sansa always called him Jaime, or J. Lan when she was feeling goofy. She saved “Mr. Lannister,” for when something was the matter.

“Where’s Myrcy?” he asked, jumping to his feet. 

“I don’t know,” Sansa said, wrapping her arms around herself. “She ran off to take a phone call like fifteen minutes ago but she’s not answering my texts and her phone went to voicemail.”

He put his hands on Sansa’s shoulders. “It’s OK, Sansa, you did the right thing. Do you know who she was talking to?” Sansa shook her head.

“She was texting her mom, but I don’t know if that’s…” Jaime nodded. Of course it was Cersei.

Sansa told them which direction she’d seen Sansa go off in.

“OK,” Jaime said. “Me and Brienne will go look for her. Why don’t you go stand by your snowperson so if she comes back you’ll be right there?” Sansa nodded.

“It’s not a snowperson,” she said. It sounded like she was holding back tears. “It’s a Christmas tree, and Myrcy’s so proud of it and —”

Brienne hugged her to her chest. “It’s gonna be OK.” She looked up at Jaime. “I’ll walk Sansa back to the tree. Why don’t you go check by the diner, and then I’ll scout out the other side of the square?”

Jaime could only nod. Rationally he knew Myrcella probably wasn’t far and was almost definitely physically OK — but it was so unlike Myrcella to run off at all. It made him feel like she was 5 years old again, and the most scared part of him wanted to tell the whole town to drop their cups of cider and look for her.

But she wasn’t five years old anymore and that would only embarrass her. He tried calling her as he walked with purpose through the market. Sansa was right — voicemail. He realized he had a text from Cersei, but, at this point, reading it would only piss him off so he ignored it. All around him were kids and teens but none of them were his.

Once he cleared the town square he jogged over to the diner. He didn’t see anyone and the lights were off.

“Myrcella!” he called. “Myrcella! You’re gonna miss the judging!” He walked toward Varys’ grocery store. It was still open, but he didn’t think Myrcella would’ve gone inside. He walked toward the bookstore and thought he saw someone sitting on the bench outside. He broke into a light jog, not wanting to scare her. 

“Myrcella,” he said as he realized it  _ was _ her, more an exhale than a word. She looked up at him with big, red eyes, her little bit of mascara smeared across her face.

“Dad? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” He sat down next to her. “What are you doing here?”

She hiccuped. 

“Mom called.” She wiped her eyes. “She said she was really sorry but that some work stuff came up for her and Robert so she doesn’t think Christmas is doable this year.”

“Oh Myrcy.” He put his arm around her.

“It’s OK,” she said. “I’m being grown up about it.” He pulled her closer.

“You don’t have to be grown up about it. You can be upset. I won’t judge you.” He took out his phone with his other hand so he could tell Brienne and Sansa that everything was fine.

“Oh no, Dad, your date! You have to go back!” Jaime chuckled.

“Don’t worry about my date, kid. You’re the most important thing right now. Brienne understands.” Myrcella wrapped her arms around his waist and burrowed into his chest. 

“But was it going well?” she said, her words muffled by his coat.

“Very,” he said. His phone vibrated. Brienne. 

_ Come to the diner when you want to warm up, I’ll make hot chocolate.  _

He typed back a quick “thank you.”

“How’d your tree turn out?” he asked. She let go of him and sat up.

“You didn’t see it?!” And she dragged him back to the town square, where he was appropriately awed and she found out they’d won second.

—

Later they sat at a table in Selwyn’s with two huge cups of hot chocolate. Brienne had made up some excuse to go hide in the back, which Myrcella was grateful for. 

“It’s just...” She stared at her mug. “I already felt bad about even going for Christmas.”

“Why?” Jaime asked. 

“I didn’t want you to be all alone.” He sighed.

“How many times have I told you not to worry about me?” he wondered, running a hand through his hair. 

“But I’m always gonna worry about you,” she said. “You’re my dad. Don’t you worry about Grandpa Tywin?” 

He shrugged. “I mean... I never thought about it, but I guess I do.”

Myrcella smirked over the edge of her mug. “How many times have you called him to ask about his plane tickets for Hawaii?”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “More than is entirely reasonable.”

“And you don’t even like him. Jaime shrugged. 

They sat in silence for a little while as Myrcella thought about what she wanted to say.

“I just don’t want you to think...” It was hard finding the words. Jaime gave her space to consider it, taking a big drink of hot chocolate. It wasn’t coffee, but it was good. Brienne had put cinnamon and these huge marshmallows. “I don’t want you to think I’m choosing mom over you.” She grimaced, like she’d said something bad. He put his hand on top of hers. 

“Myrcella, you have my eternal permission to worry about me, but not about that.” He tried to meet her eyes, but she was still uncomfortable. “I want you to have a relationship with your mom, if that’s what you want. It doesn’t make me sad and it doesn’t make me feel like you’re picking her over me. And I don’t want you to complicate things by worrying about me and my feelings. Thing are already complicated enough.”

She nodded. 

“When mom said I couldn’t come, I was upset and mad, but I was also ... relieved.” She looked at him then. “And then I felt bad for feeling relieved.”

He scooted his chair over so he could hug her. 

“Don’t feel bad about your feelings. You can’t control your feelings. Only what you do with them. And you don’t have to do anything right now.” He felt her nod against his chest. He really wanted to shred Cersei to pieces for doing this to Myrcella — not that he wanted her to know that.

They sat like that for a little while. Then Myrcella whispered, “You can tell Brienne she can come back now.” He chuckled.

“Brienne,” he called. “We’re done emoting. You can come back.”

She walked out of the back with a huge box in her arms.

“What’s that?” Myrcella asked, her voice suddenly brighter. 

“Well,” Brienne said, putting it down and opening it up. She’d swapped out her mini skirt for leggings, and Jaime felt only slightly bad for checking her out while his daughter was present. “I’d been thinking about what you said. About Christmas decorations.”

Myrcella noticeably sat up straighter. 

“And so I thought since it’s not that late and it’s Friday, that you might be willing to help me put them up.” She smiled. “If it’s OK with your dad.” 

As if Jaime could tell either of them “No.” He nodded and Myrcella squealed.

“OK,” she said and it was like she’d switched into another mode. Work mode. Craft mode. “Are these all the decorations we have?”

“There are a couple more boxes,” Brienne admitted. 

“OK, if you could get those. Also any white paper you have, and scissors, and thread, and tape and thumbtacks. And a glue gun, do you have that?” Brienne nodded, a diligent soldier in Myrcella’s army. “Dad, start going through the boxes to see what we’ve got to work with. Is it OK if I invite Sansa?” She didn’t know which adult to look at, but they both nodded.

“As long as Catelyn says it’s fine,” Jaime added as Myrcella started to text.

It was a little after midnight when they were done. Myrcella had gotten them all to cut out dozens of paper snowflakes of all sizes, which she’d then strategically decorated with glitter and strung together with the thread. Jaime’s snowflakes were judged subpar, so he’d been in charge of framing each window with Selwyn’s old lights, which bounced off the snowflakes’ glitter, making the winter wonderland come to life. More snowflakes hung from ceiling inside, and Myrcella had helped Brienne choose some of her father’s old knick knacks to set on shelves behind the counter. An 18-inch nutcracker sat next to the register. 

Brienne had also dug up Selwyn’s old record player, which miraculously still worked. The collection of records she found with it was sparse, but it did contain some Bruce Springsteen and Frank Sinatra’s Christmas album, so they’d switched back and forth between those all night. Sansa had taken many photos “for IG.”

“You’re going to post all of those tonight?” Jaime asked, feeling like his father. Well, his father if Tywin had ever given a shit about the things his sons had ever done.

“No, you spread them out all month, so you seem interesting and fun and festive,” Sansa said, like it was the most obvious thing.

Jaime was sweeping up the remaining glitter and paper scraps as Brienne came back from upstairs, where she’d put away the last box. Sansa and Myrcella had been wiping off the tables that had gotten covered with glitter and glue, but were now dozing in a booth, leaning on each other. They’d dimmed the lights, so the window displays really popped.

Brienne came over to relieve him of the broom.

“That’s some kid you’ve got there,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I should take photos, so everyone knows I got a Myrcella original display before she’s rich and famous.” Jaime grinned up at her.

“Thank you,” he said, squeezing her hand. “This was just what she needed.” Brienne looked away, her cheeks suddenly hot.

“I’d do anything for Myrcella.” Feeling bold, she squeezed his hand back. “Or you.” Now he was the one blushing. 

“I should get the sleeping beauties home, probably.” 

“Yeah,” she agreed. Everything was basically cleaned up anyway. 

“Yeah,” he repeated. His face was so close. Was he going to kiss her? Should she kiss him? The girls  _ were _ apparently asleep…

So of course Jaime’s phone rang. He sighed as he answered it.

“Yes Catelyn, we’re on our way right now. See you in...five minutes. Eight minutes.” He hung up and roused the girls, who both hugged Brienne before marching out to the car. 

Forty minutes later, as she was climbing into bed, she got a text from Jaime.

_ Got home safe. Thanks again. For everything. _

And then the motherfucker wrote,  _ See you later _ with a winky face. She refused to text back.

—

But despite the promise of the winky face, things got so busy in the last week before the holiday — and Jaime was so focused on making sure Myrcella was OK — that they barely saw each other for more than a few minutes every day, and there was definitely no time to schedule a second date.

“I can’t believe he didn’t kiss you,” Margaery said one day during lunch as she sat at the counter, eating the latke eggs benedict. Brienne tried to shush her.

“He was going to — or I was going to — but we kept getting interrupted.” She shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Margaery pouted, seeing through her. Brienne sighed.

“Maybe he changed his mind.” She stole a bite of egg with her fork. “The Blackfish really outdid himself with the hollandaise today.”

“He didn’t change his mind,” Margaery said, ignoring her friend’s attempt at avoidance. “He’s obsessed with you. I’m sure he’s thinking about kissing you right now!”

Brienne walked away from Margaery to fiddle with some stuff down the counter.

“You know I’m right! That’s why you’re running away!”

Meanwhile, Jaime caught Myrcella hanging mistletoe on their porch one morning.

“What are you doing?” he asked her, holding on to the chair she was standing on.

“Well I figured you need all the help you can get with Brienne,” she said, unable to keep the smugness out of her voice.

“It would be a shame if this chair fell over,” he said, pretending to shake it. Myrcella squealed and jumped down. 

He didn’t mention it to Brienne when they talked on the phone that night. She was tired but told him all about her day: Varys had rented out the diner for the holiday party for the grocery store workers and he came in six times during the day to confirm last minute details. The actual party had gone mostly fine, at least, until she caught two of the teenaged cashiers smooching in the bathroom. 

“That would’ve been me in high school,” he admitted with a little laugh. “An absolute nightmare.”

“It would not have been me,” Brienne said. “I would’ve caught you and then not made eye contact until we graduated. Maybe not even then.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he said. It was late. He should hang up. Instead he said, “Why didn’t you tell me you broke up with Hyle?”

“I did tell you,” she said.

“But not right away.”

She took so long to think about it that he was almost worried she’d hung up.

“It’s scary, Jaime. Anxiety producing.”

“I know.”

“That was so terrible, that month we didn’t talk to each other. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“Me neither.”

“What if we mess it up?” Jaime was relieved hearing her say the things he felt.

“We might,” he admitted. “But hopefully not. We could be really happy. Really, really happy. Isn’t that enough?” She exhaled. He really was an idiot for not kissing her when he had the chance.

“It is.” He smiled in the dark of his bedroom.

—

Brienne picked up Jaime and Myrcella on her way to Catelyn’s on Christmas day. They’d bought a buche de noel at the bakery a day earlier to bring with them, since nothing they could cook would be remotely up to standard. Myrcella was wearing the new boots she’d gotten for Christmas, while Jaime, at his daughter’s urging, wore the green quarter zip sweater she’d given him.

“You have to look handsome, Dad,” she had said as she’d tried to convince him to wear it.

“It’s not a date, Myrcy. It’s Christmas.” She didn’t deign that with a response.

They were waiting for Brienne on the porch when she pulled up. Myrcella and Jaime put all their gifts plus the cake in the trunk, alongside Brienne’s things. 

Myrcella jumped into the backseat and Jaime sat in the front

“Merry Christmas,” he said as she pulled away from the curb. 

“Merry Christmas,” she repeated. She asked Myrcella about the decorations she’d done to their house, but Jaime wasn’t really listening. He was using the fact that Brienne was distracted by driving to really look at her. 

She looked beautiful. Not because she’d done anything special to her face or hair — he didn’t think she was wearing any makeup, though maybe her lips were a little pinker than usual — and not because she was wearing something particularly beautiful, though he liked her blue coat. Just because when he looked at her he saw one of the people he loved most in the world, which was, admittedly, a little scary, but mostly it was incredible. Brienne was incredible. 

“What?” she said, when she noticed him and the goofy look on his a face. “Do I have something on my face?” She rubbed her cheek.

“No, I —“

“The light changed,” Myrcella said from the back seat, saving Jaime from spilling his heart in a car with his 14-year-old sitting behind him.

When they reached the Starks’, Sansa came barreling out of the house to capture Myrcella in a vise-like hug. 

“You’d think they hadn’t seen each other yesterday,” Jaime muttered to Brienne.

“I think it’s sweet,” she said. “Don’t be such a grinch.”

“Me a grinch?” he said, opening the trunk to get their gifts and food. Catelyn had sent out Robb and Jon to help them carry their things. “You’re the one who had to be emotionally manipulated into decorating.” She scoffed.

“That’s not what happened,” she said as she walked away, her arms full of gifts. “I’m very happy with the way the diner looks.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” Jaime said, following her up the stairs to the porch. “I’m just saying that, between the two of us, you’re clearly the grinch.”

“You’re the one wearing green!” she said, gesturing with her head toward his green coat and green sweater. He smirked.

“I’ve heard green is my color. Do you disagree?” 

“Were you always so big-headed, or did you fall on your head as a child?” But she was smiling.

Inside the house they were greeted by all the Starks and Tullys who’s already gathered: Ned and Catelyn and the kids and Jon, who’d brought Ygritte, and the Blackfish, who’d brought his boyfriend, and Edmure, who’d brought his wife, Roslin, and their toddler. Brienne kept making knowing faces at Jaime when he talked to the Blackfish, because once when they’d been drinking he’d confessed that when he’d first met Brynden he’d developed an instantaneous and overwhelming crush on him, which she liked to tease him about just to see him a little flustered.

But Christmas Day couldn’t have been more perfect. Catelyn and Ned were the perfect hosts, and there was more food and wine and cider and cookies than the group gathered possibly could’ve eaten. Brienne had brought baked clams, which she’d made herself, apparently shucking shells the night before. 

“It’s what my dad made every year,” she explained. “I think it’s what his dad made, too.” Jaime couldn’t help but think that he wanted to learn how to shuck clams next Christmas. He’d have to google it before, so he didn’t completely embarrass himself. Myrcella would probably be a shucking prodigy.

After dinner they spent a lot of time swapping presents. He and Myrcella had gotten Cat and Ned some more wine, and then the whole Stark family a couple of fun-seeming board games they’d picked out. The Starks were a board game family, the type Jaime had always wanted to be a part of. 

Myrcella made Sansa some sort of friendship scrapbook, which had them both weeping in an instant. Brienne was worried for a moment, but Jaime knew it was just the way of teen girls. They felt so much and they couldn’t keep it hidden. It was admirable. 

Brienne had gotten him and Myrcella a turntable, since they’d enjoyed hers so much, with a couple albums to get them started, including, to Myrcella’s delight, Ariana Grande’s “Christmas and Chill.” Jaime was pretty sure his father had more records in his attic, but Myrcella would probably have to be the one to ask Tywin for them. Unless they broke in while the old man wasn’t home...

Myrcella had hand painted Brienne a wood sign with the Selwyn’s logo to hang off the cash register, matching the one that hung outside the diner. 

“Oh Myrcy, it’s beautiful,” she said, throwing her arms around her. 

After dessert, they all played charades in teams of two. Brienne and Jaime  _ would’ve _ won, he told everyone who would listen, if Myrcella and Sansa hadn’t developed some sort of nonverbal language that could be communicated in only the slightest of movements or, at most, the raising of an eyebrow. 

At the end of the night, Brienne drove them home, all tired and dazed and joyous. When they reached the house, Myrcella thanked Brienne again for the record player and ran inside, carrying the gifts. Jaime looked over at Brienne. She looked so lovely in the moonlight. 

“I left your gift inside the house,” he said. “Let me just run in and get it.” And he hurried out of the car, grabbed their remaining things, and jogged inside. Brienne turned off the car and walked up the porch, figuring she’d wait for Jaime there so he wouldn’t have to walk all the back. She admired the lights on the porch, the branches of pine they’d attached to the railing. It was homey and warm and beautiful. 

Jaime opened the door and stopped in the frame, surprised to see Brienne leaning against the railing. His face broke into a smile. He had a box in his arms. 

“For you,” he said, holding it out and stepping closer to her. 

“Should I open it now?” she asked as she took it in her hands. He shook his head. 

“Wait if you want. That way you don’t have to pretend you like it if you don’t.”

“Jaime,” she chided him. “I’m sure it’s lovely.” He shrugged. She pulled herself to her full height, but instead of walking down the porch steps she took a step toward him.

“I had a really lovely day,” she managed to say. It was Christmas. They were on a porch covered in lights. It was quiet and Jaime looked so handsome. “I’m glad Myrcella had a good Christmas despite…”

“Me too,” he said. “We should make this an annual thing.”

“Taking advantage of Catelyn’s hospitality?” she asked. He shook his head. 

“Doing Christmas together.” He looked at her lips, and then her eyes. She nodded just a little. She wanted this so badly, could not believe she had denied herself this long. She leaned in slightly, as if pulled in by some sort of inevitable, gravitational force that she’d been resisting for years. This was where they were meant to end up, this was —

Then he said, “Can we just move like two feet to the left?” 

“What?” she asked. He pulled her arm a little. 

“Just a little bit that way.”

“Why?”

He pointed up. “Because there’s mistletoe above us, and if I tell Myrcella that I kissed you for the first time under it, she’ll never let me forget it for the rest of my life.” She laughed. “Please, let’s just mov—“

She silenced him with her lips. She thought he said, “Oh,” against her mouth, which was just like him, to keep speaking when she was trying to kiss him. It was sweet and lovely, a promise of more. A beginning. She wrapped both her arms around his neck to pull him just a little closer, and found he fit there perfectly. Against her chest, under her hands. Kissing Hyle hadn’t been like this. This felt preordained. It felt right. 

It might have been 10 seconds or 2 minutes. They were both grinning.

“Alright,” he said. “I should let you go.” She nodded. “Are you working tomorrow?” he asked, almost an afterthought. 

“No, the diner’s closed.” He smiled. 

“Ok. I’ll call you in the morning so we can...” he gestured between the two of them, apparently at a loss for words. He surged forward and kissed her quickly again. Just a touch. She’d think about it the rest of the night.

“OK,” she said. He stayed on the porch until her car was out of sight. 

When she got home, she opened the present. The wrapping paper had none of the perfect corners and fine lines of the gift Myrcella had given her. Jaime must have done it himself. The first thing she found inside the box was a framed photo of herself with her father, inside the diner. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen it before. She must have been 23, maybe 22, before he’d gotten sick, but after she and Jaime had started to become friends. When she was younger she’d never wanted to be in photos, self-conscious about the way she looked. She regretted it now, wished she had more memories to look at. In this photo, she wasn’t looking at the camera, but at her dad, which is why she mustn’t have noticed it being taken. They both looked so happy. She wiped away a tear, smiling. On the back of the frame was a note that read, “Myrcella found this while working on her scrapbook for Sansa. Would’ve given it to you sooner if I realized I had it. But wanted you to have it now.”

She set the photo on her bookshelf and moved the tissue paper to see what was at the bottom of the box. She found exactly the blue baseball hat she wore at work every day, just brand new and not covered in dirt and grease and coffee. 

She went to bed that night thinking about how strange and scary and incredible it was to be known.

—

She woke up the next morning to her phone ringing. Jaime. 

“Wazza matter?”

“Are you asleep? Did you  _ sleep in?” _

She pulled the phone from her ear to glance at the time. 10:30.

“I guess I did,” she said, sitting up. “What’s up?”

“Ah,” he said. “I wanted to know what your plans are today.”

“I don’t have any,” she said, maybe too fast and too eager, but she didn’t care anymore. “What are you and Myrcella doing?”

“Ah,” he said again. “Well that’s the thing. Myrcella just informed me that she and Sansa are going to go see  _ Little Women _ at the mall so they can spend their Christmas money after, and then they’re having a sleepover at the Starks’.”

“Ah,” she said, echoing him. “Do you have any solo plans, then?”

“Not one,” he said and she thought she could hear his smirk. 

“Well enjoy your alone time then,” she said, pretending she was going to hang up.

“Brienne,” he said with a little laugh. “Do you want to spend Boxing Day together?”

“Yes,” she said. “Give me an hour to shower, then come over. We can watch movies. Or...whatever.” Jaime let out a single laugh.

“Or whatever,” he repeated. “Ok. An hour. I’ll bring snacks.”

Jaime knocked on her door exactly 55 minutes later with more snacks than two people ought to eat in a week.

“This was unnecessary,” she said, taking a bag from him. 

“We might get hungry,” he argued, placing the bags left in his hands on the counter. “Say what you will about Varys, but he currates an extensive snack collection. They had Japanese Kit Kats.” Content that the bags would not fall over, he finally turned to face her. 

It was almost like he was looking at her for the first time. She felt herself blush as his eyes traced up from her feet in their very fluffy slippers, over her bare legs up to her suddenly tiny-feeling lounge shorts, to her blue oversized sweater, which, she could admit, she’d chosen to wear for its very deep v neck (a Christmas gift from Margaery, of course). When his eyes met hers, she almost took a step back. No one had ever really looked at her like that — like they saw her and wanted her, desired her, needed her. Even when she allowed herself to fantasize about being with Jaime — very rarely and not without a drop of shame — she’d never imagined him looking at her like this. In the most insecure corner of her mind, she never thought she deserved something like this, too tall and too manly and too big. The reality of it was intoxicating, almost overwhelming. Almost. She wanted to remember it forever. No, she wanted to  _ live in it _ forever.

So she took a step forward and he took a step forward and in less than a second, he had his arms around her hips, pulling her closer, and she had her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and their lips met. It felt so stupid that they’d never tried kissing before when they were  _ so. good.  _ at it together. She could spend the whole day kissing Jaime and never get bored. The way he bit her lip, the way his tongue traced her mouth, the way his beard tickled her chin. If she were thinking rationally, she’d be worried about beard burn and how red her face would be soon, but there was no thinking rationally with Jaime Lannister in her arms. In her house. Very close to her bedroom. Kissing her neck.

“Jaime,” she said with a little laugh. “You still have your coat on.” He didn’t stop kissing her.

“So help me take it off,” he growled. He didn’t have to say it twice. She undid the zipper while his lips reached for hers again. Once it was open, she pulled it off his arms and it fell to the floor. She started to work on the buttons on his shirt as he bit her lip. 

“God,” he said, pulling her closer. She could feel him hard against her thigh, which made her move her hips against him. “I was going to take this slow.” He planted kisses on her jaw. It was very hard to open buttons while he was doing that. “But I want you. I’ve wanted you so long.” It sent chills down her spine.

“Jaime.”

“Really.” He nuzzled her neck with his beard, using the huge neckline of her sweater to get at her shoulder.

“When?” she asked, breathless. 

“When what?” His fingers reached under her sweater and he ran them up and down her waist, teasing what was to come. She shivered.

“When did you start wanting me?” She almost couldn’t believe she’d said it. And yet. She wouldn’t take it back.

“OK,” he said, still rubbing his ridiculous, handsome, perfect beard all over her shoulder and neck. “You’d just come home from college. Your dad was having a barbecue and you were wearing these ridiculously tiny shorts and you kept giving me dirty looks while you worked the grill and all I could think about was how I wanted to lick the sweat off of you.” He bit her shoulder for emphasis. She was throbbing with want for him.

“Jaime,” she groaned. “Why didn’t you say anything?” She finally got his last button undone, fully revealing his stupid, perfect chest.

“You hated me,” he said, matter of fact. She frowned. She let her fingers run through his chest hair. 

“I never hated you.” She tried to pull back so she could see his face, but he kept kissing her. 

“You kind of did,” he said, as if it was nothing, and then he licked her ear.

“No, Jaime,” she said, taking a step back. It was hard — she didn’t want to leave his embrace, but he needed to get it. “I never hated you. I could never hate you. You know that, right?” They couldn’t do this until he understood. He crossed his arms over his chest. 

“We didn’t get along,” he offered. She nodded.

“Sure, but that’s not hate. We just … couldn’t sync up.” He reached her for her again, hesitant, and she stepped into his arms. “But now we sync up,” she said as she pulled off her sweater in one smooth motion. She could’ve spent the rest of the day just basking in the look on his face.

“Brienne Tarth,” he said, quite deviously, his fingers tracing her hips again. “You’re not wearing a bra.”

She pulled him closer, pressed their foreheads together.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” she whispered. “I wear a bra… 10 percent of the time?” He kissed her again, all wet and hot and needy.

“It’s going to be very hard not to think about that over my morning coffee,” he said. She finished taking his shirt off, pulling it down his shoulders. She kissed him again and his hands slowly creeped up her sides — too slowly. It was agony. She ought to be patient, but Jaime had wanted her for  _ eight years _ and she thought they’d done enough waiting.

She took his hands in hers and put them on her breasts. They both moaned in the same instant. He rubbed his thumbs over her nipples and she felt like every part of her body was on fire, and she never wanted it to stop. She pulled him closer by his belt loops, his length rubbing against where she wanted him so badly. 

He took his hands off of her and she whimpered, but he replaced them with his mouth, leaning down so he could lick and suck and tease with his teeth.

“Holy shit,” she said, her hands in his hair as he half stood, half knelt. They were barely inside her apartment. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t come in her  _ foyer. _

“Jaime?”

“Mmm,” he said, his left hand came around to grip her ass. 

“My bedroom is…”  _ His tongue, ahh.  _ “Right there.” He looked up at her and she felt herself shudder. This man. “Might be easier. If we were horizontal.” He smiled up at her like a fucking devil.

“Alright,” he said. As he regained his full height, he kicked off his shoes. “Lead the way.” 

She dragged him to the bedroom and less than a minute later, he was sitting on her bed and she was straddling his lap, his tongue and hands doing indescribable things to her breasts again. She reached down and started to unbuckle his belt. He moaned when her hand grazed against him. 

“I want you so bad,” she begged, grinding against him. “It’s all I want. Jaime. Please.” He looked up at her and she kissed him again, trying to let him know the million feelings inside her. She was so bad at words sometimes, but she could tell him like this. 

He got the point. Wrapping his hands around her waist, he flipped them over and pulled off her shorts and underwear. For a second, she felt the ghost of Hyle in the room, always “subtly” suggesting they turn off the lights, or “joking” that she ought to shave. She couldn’t remember the last time she had sex in the daytime. But Jaime just traced her body with his sharp green eyes and his demon smile and there was only him again.

“Take off your pants,” she ordered. 

“I like it when you boss me around, have I told you that?” he said as he stripped down. He pulled off his socks next, then his underwear. As she took him in — all of him — she swore he preened. 

“Get over here,” she said, rolling her eyes. He snickered as he jumped on top of her, kissing her again. One of his hands found her breast again, the other slipping in between her legs.

“Is this OK?” he asked with his husky voice. All she could do was nod before he slipped one finger inside her, finding her wet and wanting. He added another, rubbing and flicking where she wanted him,  _ needed him. _

“Jaime,” she said, desperately. “I just want—” She stopped, moaning as he sucked on her neck. “I just want you inside me.  _ Please.” _

“Fuck.” His voice shook. “Do you have condoms?” 

“I have an IUD,” she said. “Please, Jaime.”

He took his hands off her. “Please what?”

She reached up to his neck and pulled him back down to her. “Fuck me.”

He didn’t need to hear it twice. She spread her legs wider and he slipped inside. She was already so close, and then he started moving. She matched his rhythm, meeting him thrust for trust.

“Can’t believe it,” Jaime said. “You with me. You’re so perfect. Brienne. Brienne. Fuck.” She wrapped her legs around his waist. It was so good, but she wanted him deeper, faster, more. 

“Harder, Jaime,” she begged. “Please, please. I can’t wait.” He kissed her again before pulling up to his knees, lifting her hips with him. He slammed into her, as she rocked back and forth, grinding against him. One of his hands reached for her clit, rubbing circles as he looked down at her like he wanted to swallow her whole. She couldn’t last like this, and it built until she was screaming his name as she came around him. He followed a moment later and they collapsed in a pile on the bed. He rested his head on her shoulders and she wrapped her arms around their waist as they both tried to catch their breath.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” he echoed. “Holy shit.” He pulled his head up to smile at her again. “But I’m sure we can do better.”

They stayed like that for a long time, tracing patterns on each other’s skin and talking.

“I really thought you hated me,” Jaime eventually admitted.

“I never hated you,” Brienne said again as she found his chest hair quite fascinating.

“Right, you just thought I was too immature to have a kid.”

“No — well, a little, but I was wrong.” She placed a hand on his heart. “You’re a great dad.”

“You just think I act like a child —”

Brienne shoved him lightly. “Stop putting bad things about you in my mouth.”

Jaime quietly accepted that, but he still stared at her with his too intense eyes. She sighed and tried to find the words.

“I grew up with a single dad. And my dad was the best but sometimes he wasn’t, and he wasn’t in his early twenties when I was in second grade. And I just didn’t want Myrcy to go through some of the things I did. I mean my dad had all these terrible girlfriends—” 

“But I just have you,” Jaime said, something teasing in his voice.

“Oh I’m your girlfriend now?” She smiled, but she saw his confidence shake.

“Well I was hoping…” She kissed him again.

As they cuddled, Jaime thought about how close he’d come to telling her he was in love with her. But that would’ve been crass and cheap, telling Brienne he was in love with her while they were having sex. She deserved better. 

Plus it was too soon. He should wait a month and take her somewhere romantic but not pretentious, and tell her as the sun set, bathing them in golden light.  _ Maybe I should wait two months _ , he thought. He ought to find out when Addam told Dacey he loved her. Addam would know how things are done.

So of course three hours later, while they were watching  _ It’s A Wonderful Life _ and eating the snacks, and Jaime had his head on her lap and she was casually stroking his hair, just the way he’s always wanted, he looked up at her and said, “I’m in love with you.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he was afraid she would laugh or frown or push him away. Tell him it was too much. That he was too much. He was always too much.

Instead she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

She whispered back, “And I’m in love with you.”

They didn’t pay attention to the rest of the movie.

**Author's Note:**

> Well! That was the fic! Please drop a comment if you liked it — I still feel very precarious writing smut, and was also worried that it didn't jive with the tone of the rest of the fic. But fic should be nothing if not self-indulgent.
> 
> If you want more seasonal fic, I wrote a Christmas fic in July called “Christmas Lights,” and it has a New Year’s Eve-themed sequel!
> 
> also i deleted my tumblr but follow me on twitter @faketoriae.
> 
> Happy Holidays bbs


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